"Wolves engaging east-side pair," Kael says. "Contained. No noise."
"South-side pair rotating in," Celeste says. "They haven't noticed. Moving to the entry. Simone."
"Ready."
On Celeste's feed, a door. A lock. Her hand on it. A click, then fast movement. Simone's camera swings left as they enter.
"Contact." Celeste's voice drops to a whisper. On her feed, two figures in the main room. Armed. "Two more inside. The scouts counted four outside. These are additional."
"Six total," Julian murmurs beside me. "Not four."
"They're armed," Simone says. "Heavy. These aren't watchmen. They're protection detail."
"Which means this safehouse matters more than a standard hold," Celeste says. "Simone, left side. I've got right."
On Simone's camera, a blur of movement. On Celeste's, the air bends. A body lifts off the ground and slams into the far wall. The compressed crack of her telekinesis travels through the comms a half second after I see the impact on screen.
"Down," Simone says.
"Down," Celeste says.
"Clear," Alexei says from the entry. "No outgoing signals. They didn't have time."
"Ground floor is empty," Celeste says. "No sign of the girl. Alexei, get in here."
On Celeste's feed, stairs. Beneath them, a door. Reinforced. Steel. Multiple locks.
"I know this door." Alexei's voice changes. "Facility seven had the same configuration. Konstantin builds holds beneath the foundation. She's below us." A pause. "The walls will be lined with iron sheeting. That's why Seraphina couldn't pin the exact location. It blocks scrying."
"Can you open it?"
"Three locks. I know how he sequences them. Give me a minute."
On Alexei's camera, his hands on the locks. Metal on metal. A click. Another. Working through the sequence from memory.
"Last one is different. Newer. He changed the configuration since I left." Silence. "I need thirty seconds."
Julian's eye is fixed on the display, his mouth a thin line. The bond carries Celeste's focus in a steady pulse that hasn't wavered.
A final click.
"It's open."
"Simone." Celeste's voice shifts. Quieter. "You lead."
The shared pulse between us loosens by a fraction. Quieter. Steadier.
On Simone's camera, concrete stairs descending into a dim glow. Each step deliberate, placed with the same care I've watched her use in the medical wing at night.
The feed cuts to static. The iron sheeting.
Audio only.
"I'm at the bottom."
When she speaks again her voice has changed. Thinner. Controlled with effort.
"It's a room. Ten by ten. Mattress on the floor. No window. Light is a single bulb. There's a tray. Bread and water. Half-eaten."
